A Voice

Staring at the lit cigarette resting between his fingers, he wondered what lied ahead in life. Was he like a burning fag himself?

A voice came from the cigarette.
Hi dude, thinking about me?
Hey hi, yeah. Kinda.
I was wondering if you like me as well. You know, burning, reducing, waiting for the end, while others suck me up and enjoy. I mean, look at you. Your life is a shit, total shit. Aint it?

All I know about my life is that once I get lit, I know I am not going to last for more than few minutes. This is all there is about my life. And I don’t mind being sucked up. This is what my job is.That’s cool man, you at least know your purpose in life. That’s cool. Half of the human beings don’t even know that.

Dude, you are missing on something here. I didn't choose this job. I was like, I never had the option to choose my own purpose. You've got that. You got the option to pick your purpose! And you still complaining?
What a jerk!

You dare call me a jerk. Do you even realize that in like another minute, whether you like it or not, me going to rub you off underneath my shoe. Do you fucking realize that?
Well, I don't feel like talking to you. Finish me up and crush me. Do you really think I care about what you are going to do with me when you have used me?

Neither do I.Fuck off.

He didn't feel like finishing the fag. Bloody fag. What an attitude! It deserved to be crushed. He threw it and stamped upon it.He sat there, staring in blank for sometime. He reached out for the packet and pulled out another fag. He lit it. Staring at the lit cigarette resting between his fingers, he wondered what lied ahead in life.
Was he like a burning fag himself?

PS: Dedicated to all my loving smokers! :D

Cold.

Darkness was approaching. He didn't move. A leaf fell down from a tree above. His eyes followed the path traced by the falling leaf in the cold and wet air. It wasn't just the air that was wet. He was wet too. It had been a life time. He just hadn't moved from that broken bench that he had occupied earlier in the day. It had rained couple of times in the day. Many leaves had fallen since then. He had tried not to miss a single on of them. The leaves reminded him of something. Someone. The falling leaves.

It was dark. The unattended park had no neon lamps to boast of. The only light that was to be seen came from a far off pan-shop. He couldn't see but he could figure out that now, he was the only soul left in there. Sitting on the same broken bench. The dark green color of the bench was nothing but pitch black. So much like his life. Black. His eyes could follow the leaves no more. The leaves continued falling. He focused. He could listen to them. Falling. And then it started raining again.

It started with a drizzle but picked up soon. His slightly dried up body was getting drenched once again. He didn't mind it. He wanted it. He wanted things to change. He wanted things to happen. He wanted the cold water in the cold evening to touch him and whisper music in his ears. He wanted to be away from civilization. He was away from civilization.

The thudding sound of an engine came from somewhere. The intensity increased, stayed constant for some time and then stopped. A motorcycle. He could also listen to two men talk. Like a crocodile, he acted. He suddenly had cold metal in his hands. He suddenly was looking through a lens. He was looking at the men. The unaware men. Infra-red. He was fast. Bang. First shot. Bang. Second shot. A leaf fell down from a tree above.
Dead, he was.

Image Credits: Borayin Maitreya Larios

Politics.

Lying on my bed, ready to sleep early, as I was reading Nehru’s Autobiography, I read something that I had to share with you all and so I jumped up, switched on the laptop and here it is (quoting from page 139 of the book) -

Politics, says an American Socialist (quoted by Sir Stafford Cripps), “is the gentle art of getting votes from the poor and campaign funds from the rich by promising to protect each from the other.”

Makes me think.

Alright, back to book and bed.

:)

Krishna says

Krishna says in the Bhagvad gita : "Whenver adharma surpasses the limit. He will incarnate on earth"

So, I wonder that he has not done so yet implies that the evil, which we fret about, has not transcended limits. His statements could allude to the evil within each of us and incarnate to purge, cleanse and establish dharma within us!
Did he not make a highway robber into Maharshi Valmiki, did he not transform the miser into Purandara Das and did not Kartikeya transform the flesh hungry youngster into a poet saint Arunagirinathar?
I guess, the collections goodness of mankind seeks a medium to express itself and manifests as god liners in few individuals whom we worship as saints and prophets!
So, the collective evil within all of us seeks to find an expression and manifests in few individuals whom we call as demons.

There is enough goodness outside of us and we just need only to focus our vision and change our perception on the canvas instead of the picture!

:)